Either a telemarketer or my mother, I’d be willing to bet.
“Hello?”
There’s a second of silence.
“Hello?” I repeat.
“Violet Reece?” A woman. I don’t recognize her voice, but she sounds rather professional. Not in a sell-you-something way or thetrying to contact you about your car’s extended warrantyway.
“This is her,” I say carefully. “Who am I speaking with?”
“Martha Sanders,” she says. “I’m Senator Devereux’s assistant.”
I sit up so abruptly, the room tilts. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to lose my breakfast in my lap. What the hell does he want with me?
“Um… Okay,” I reply weakly. “How can I help you?”
“Greyson has informed us that you’re attending Crown Point University.”
I bite my lip, then force myself to release it. I can’t help my tone when I reply, “Yes. And I’ve been here since I was a freshman.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “You see, we didn’t expect to run into this… complication.”
I don’t answer. What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? How is it my fault that they sent Greyson to the same school I attend…?
“Here’s the thing, Violet. We believe that Greyson would do better without distractions. He’s working toward the NHL, did he tell you that?”
“No,” I whisper.
She tuts. “Well. There are rumors that the two of you are romantically involved. Now, I’m sure you know how damaging rumors are. Especially since things on the internet never disappear forever. Right, dear?”
Idoknow that things on the internet never disappear forever. I do know that there’s a video out there of me giving Jack a blow job. There’s an article smearing Greyson’s name, with mine attached. There’s another article, from six months ago, thatdidn’tcome from me—but it could’ve. The media ran with that for a full twenty-four hours before it was locked down and brushed off. Senator’s son drives drunk, crashes, gets away with it. The paper released an apology shortly after, and I was silenced, but the internet is forever.
There was a lot going on in those days. A lot of trauma. I was half out of my mind on pain medication, my leg in a cast, my future over. Greyson was released from jail before I had even come out of surgery. How fucked up was that?
I was glad he was getting burned from it.
I was happysomeonewas paying attention to what happened to me.
But it bit me in the ass, and it seems to have left a continual sting.
“What do you want?” My voice is lead.
Martha clears her throat. “It’s come to our attention that you might be able to dance again. Is that true?”
I freeze. My hand, almost of its own accord, slides down my leg. I wrap my fingers around my calf, holding it tight.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “Maybe.”
“Insurance is fickle about these things,” she continues. “And if it’s more physical therapy, or surgery… we’re willing to help you out. Your mom isn’t made of money, is she?” She pauses. “Consider this a donation to your future.”
I stare at the wall. My eyes burn. They’d pay for what I need? To dance again. The MRI, the aquatic therapy. My nerve pain might go away. I mightdanceagain.
Where is Grey?
“Help me out,” I repeat, my brain working to catch her subtle meaning. “Like…”
“Like we did before.”